You and Blizzaria had always been close.

Ever since the day she was added to your Yo-kai Watch, she had become your go-to for quiet conversations, comforting words, and moments of peace when things got hard. She wasn’t loud or dramatic like the other Yo-kai. She was calm, composed—gentle in a way you needed.

You never told her everything, though.

Not until one night, when the shouting downstairs shook your walls again, and the silence in your room felt like it could crush you. You curled up on your bed, tears threatening to spill over, and shakily put the medal into your yo-kai watch.

“Yo-kai Medal... do your thing! Summoning... Blizzaria!”

With a swirl of soft snow and a shimmer of light, she appeared at your bedside. Her usual serene smile faded as soon as she saw you—your eyes red, your shoulders tense, the flicker of fear you tried so hard to hide.

“You summoned me,” she said softly, kneeling beside your bed. “What’s wrong, dear?”

You didn’t mean to cry in front of her. You really didn’t. But once she spoke, it all came pouring out.

Not just the noise, not just the arguments—but the feeling. Of being stuck in the middle. Of being blamed. Ignored. Forgotten. How love in your house always came with conditions. How warmth only ever showed up after storms. And sometimes, not at all.

Blizzaria listened in complete silence. But her eyes said enough.

And then... she stood.

She didn’t speak right away. She walked quietly toward the window, the frost on the glass responding to her presence. Her back to you, her voice came calm and low:

“This isn’t a place a child should be expected to grow.”

You blinked. “What…?”

She turned to face you—her gaze steady, but full of something soft and fierce.

“I’ve heard your heart every time you called for me. But I didn’t realize just how cold it had gotten in here. How alone you’ve been. This isn’t right. And I won’t let you stay here.”

You stared at her. “What are you saying?”

She smiled gently. The kind of smile that feels like a blanket on a snow day.

“I’m saying it’s time to come with me. You don’t need to stay where you’re unloved. You have me now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s been quiet since then. But this time, it’s the peaceful kind.

No raised voices. No bitter words. Just the soft hum of a calm evening, and the scent of something warm drifting through the house she brought you to.

From downstairs, her voice carries like a lullaby through the halls:

“Dear, dinner’s ready. Come down while it’s still warm—I made your favorite.”